


eleven eleven (twelve thirty four)

by reechie



Series: didn't see you coming au companion fics [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Richie Tozier, Drinking, M/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Strangers to Lovers, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25753102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reechie/pseuds/reechie
Summary: "I'm gonna go get some air," Eddie says, taking a drink from the water he must've grabbed for himself while Richie was gone. His lower lip is shiny when he pulls the glass away and Richie doesn't even try to hide that he's looking as Eddie's tongue darts out to swipe the shine away. "You coming?""If I'm lucky," Richie says, and it's worth the glare from Eddie, if only from the way Richie can see the tips of his ears go a little pink."Nevermind, you can stay in here," Eddie says with a roll of his eyes, turning to head toward the door.Richie follows.The thought scares him, but he has a feeling he'd follow him anywhere.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: didn't see you coming au companion fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934137
Comments: 35
Kudos: 231





	eleven eleven (twelve thirty four)

**Author's Note:**

> wow okay hi long time lurker first time poster!! 
> 
> this is a supplemental fic for my social media au over on twitter,[@didntseeyouau](https://twitter.com/didntseeyouau/), which you dont have to read to understand this fic but it's pretty fun if that's your jam! 
> 
> thank yous to lynne, finn, amelia and elle for being my sprinting pals and to christina for the soundtrack to write this to!! i love u all. 
> 
> title from arkells 11:11

The first time Richie saw the man of his dreams, he was heading back toward Ben and Stan at their table across the bar, two bottles of beer in one hand, his own drink in the other. 

The bar was a little crowded, what Richie assumed was the last push for the end of the summer, so he really didn’t blame the guy for nearly knocking him over.

“Woah, sorry man,” he said, lifting the glass with his drink higher, as if that would stop it from dripping down his arm. “Didn’t see you there.”

The guy nodded, moving past him to the bar, and Richie turned to watch. He’s wearing a button down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pinched look on his face, like Richie is ruining his day by accidentally bumping into him.

"Don't worry about it," the man said, eyes flicking down, then up, like he’s catching himself. Richie grins, and then the man is shoving past him to the bar, lost in the height of the crowd.

By the time he got back to his table, Richie had come up with about thirteen separate ways to annoy this guy before he leaves tonight.

"What's with the face," Stan says, not quite a question before taking a beer from Richie. "I don't like that face, Richie."

Next to Stan, Ben scoffs. "Interesting how tastes change."

"I'm  _ married, _ " Stan says, rolling his eyes.

"It's okay, it makes sense that he doesn't like this face," Richie says, smoothing his features. "I wouldn't blame him. Walking in on your best friend giving it to your dad can be--"

Stan sighs, takes a pull from the bottle in his hands, swallows and says, "Beep fucking beep, asshole."

Ben's in the middle of a story about something that happened in Rome that he's mostly telling to Stan when Richie sees him again -- he's occupying the end of the bar, an old fashioned held loosely in his hand as talking to the bartender. Spotting the jukebox next to the bar, Richie slips away, shoving his hand into his pocket as he walks, praying that he didn't drop the quarters he got back from the bartender earlier.

He hums happily when he finds them, setting his drink on the jukebox as he drops them in and starting to flip through the catalogues.

He's no stranger to this jukebox, even on the seldom days the owner does change the catalogue, so it's easy enough to flip over far enough by muscle memory alone, double checking the numbers he wants before punching them in.

"The Doors  _ again _ , Richie?" calls Eli, the usual barkeep. She's always here for trivia, and it's a wonder that she hasn't tossed Richie out of here on sheer music taste alone on more than one occasion.

"You know it, pumpkin," Richie calls back, not looking away from the box, tapping in another code. It's Tom Petty, this time, though he's not sure which song it'll be. He thinks his finger slipped. "Gotta bring the good word with me wherever I go."

That earns him a laugh, but not from Eli.

On the barstool next to him, the guy turns.

"You can't be serious," he says, one eyebrow quirked. "I know for a  _ fact  _ that Tears for Fears entire discography is in there and you're calling The Doors the 'good word?'"

Richie laughs, loud and unabashed, watching the corner of the guy's mouth quirk from it's frown ever so slightly. "Who do you think lobbied to have it in here?"

"Is that just something you do in your spare time?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "Inflict aural pain on innocent bar-goers?"

"Yeah, as a break from inflicting it on anyone who will listen," Richie says, easily. "What's so bad about Jim Morrison?"

The guy takes the bait, launching into every criticism of The Doors first album he could probably think of, nearly knocking the drink out of his own hand just from how wildly he's talking with them. Richie can't look away, interjecting when he can, which isn't often.

By the time he takes a breath, Richie's sides hurt from laughing, his cheeks from smiling and the guy is red in the face.

"You done?"

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' done," he says, huffy. "Jesus Christ."

"It's Richie, actually," Richie says, taking the easy opportunity. He smirks and looks him over, takes in how close they are as the guy rolls his eyes. He swallows, throat clicking before taking a sip of the now-watery drink in his hand. "But you can call me whatever you want, cutie."

"It's Eddie, actually," he parrots. "You owe me a drink."

Richie laughs, leaning against the jukebox. "Do I now?"

"Yeah," Eddie says. "Anyone who makes me justify my taste in music owes me compensation for my time."

Nodding, Richie peers over Eddie's head -- _over_ , because he can do that -- to spot Eli.

"Another one of whatever Eds is drinking, on me," he says, and Eli nods.

"Definitely not my name," Eddie says, then turns to Eli. "Make it something better than rail since he's paying."

"You got it," Eli says before Richie can get a word in otherwise.

Ten minutes pass, or maybe an hour does before Richie realizes that he's the one who dragged Stan and Ben out and he's settled into this corner barstool, listening to Eddie chatter on about music, about this car he's working on, about how this is the last week he has to himself for a while. He gets a word in here and there, mostly when he can find a decent joke that's playable off of something Eddie's said.

Conversation hits a natural stopping point, and so do their drinks, so he orders himself a water, tells Eddie to get whatever he wants and gets Ben and Stan one more to drop off on his way to the bathroom.

He gets a knowing look from Stan and a quirked eyebrow from Ben, both realizing he's been gone and that he most likely won't be coming back to the table, but they don't mind the free drinks they're getting out of it.

It's been a while since... well, any of this, he thinks absently as he's washing his hands. There was the unfortunate incident of the guy he picked up in New Jersey on a weekend trip for the station, then a steady thing with someone in his apartment building for a few months before their lease was up, but nothing since then. He's not sure if this will turn into anything, if Eddie's even looking for anything, but he can't help but be a little drawn to him.

He gets his answer when he gets back to his barstool and Eddie tucks his phone back in his pocket.

"I'm gonna go get some air," Eddie says, taking a drink from the water he must've grabbed for himself while Richie was gone. His lower lip is shiny when he pulls the glass away and Richie doesn't even try to hide that he's looking as Eddie's tongue darts out to swipe the shine away. "You coming?"

"If I'm lucky," Richie says, and it's worth the glare from Eddie, if only from the way Richie can see the tips of his ears go a little pink.

"Nevermind, you can stay in here," Eddie says with a roll of his eyes, turning to head toward the door.

Richie follows.

The thought scares him, but he has a feeling he'd follow him anywhere.

It's cooler out here than it was in the bar, miraculously, the fall chill finally starting to settle over New York as August turns it's pages. Richie can feel the warmth on his skin slide away in the fresh air, raising goosebumps on his arms that almost make him wish he'd gone for one of the lighter flannels in his closet than the patterned button down he's wearing.

Eddie is leaned against the wall phone out and washing him in a bright blue light, but he locks it after Richie settles next to him.

He's quiet for a second, then scoffs a laugh.

"Are there  _ corgis  _ on your shirt?"

"Fuck yeah there are," Richie says, straightening the hanging tails of the shirt out in front of him. "My friends think my fashion is awful, but they'll still get me shit like this. I love it."

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. "You're probably the most ridiculous person I've ever met, you know that?"

"I'll be honest here, Eds," Richie says, turning to press his shoulder into the wall to face Eddie. "You're not the first person who's told me that."

"Don't call me that," Eddie says, looking up, "and definitely not surprised."

It's quiet then, just for a beat, long enough for Richie to take in Eddie looking at him like he's expecting him to stop whatever natural trajectory they're on.

"Didn't think you had it in you to be quiet," Eddie says, ironically shattering the New York silence, his soft voice somehow louder than the trains and distant sirens that always litter the nightlife.

Richie just huffs a laugh, eyes flicking down to Eddie's lips, the flash of teeth as they grab at his lower lip.

"Won't be quiet when I have it in me either," he says, and for a second he thinks it was too brash, too much for the situation but Eddie just sighs, steps in front of him and turns them against the wall.

"Ridiculous," he says, then with a hand on Richie's jaw, surges up to his tiptoes and brings their lips together.

Richie's laughing when their lips slot together, a hum against Eddie's lips before he gets with the program, kissing him back in earnest. His hands settle at Eddie's hips, pulling him closer, throwing him a little off balance, but more than okay with leaning into his space to get him impossibly closer. His hand tightens on Eddie's hip at the same moment his tongue teases Eddie's lower lip, a silent request that's accepted with a soft groan.

It's easy to lose himself in the easy, languid slide of their lips, Eddie's fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, almost as easy as it is to find himself slingshot back into reality as Eddie's teeth grab at his lower lip, a quick sting soothed immediately by a quick kiss before he pulls away.

They don't separate too much, foreheads pressed together, Richie brushing his nose against Eddie's just once in afterthought as he catches his breath.

"Yowza," Richie says, his mouth moving before the wheels in his head turn enough to tell him not to.

Eddie just laughs, somehow amused instead of annoyed, like he's sure anyone else would be. There's a crinkle at the corner of his eye that Richie wants to press his lips to, and he hopes he'll get to at some point. For now, he just watches as Eddie's eyes flutter shut, feels the tip of his nose brush against his own.

"How rude of you would it be to ditch your friends," Eddie asks, and Richie can't help but laugh.

"They probably haven't even realized I'm gone," he says, honestly. When he'd gone to drop off their drinks, Stan and Ben barely looked up from their conversation, the fuckers.

Eddie hums, something soft in the back of his throat before he leans back in. Richie realizes as Eddie slots their lips together again that he's definitely up on the balls of his feet to meet Richie's height, and the warmth at the center of Richie's chest spreads, escapes as a soft hum against Eddie's lips.

Richie doesn't get as lost as before this time around, now that he's got a map to follow to each soft sound Eddie makes, every action that earns a tightened hand at the short hairs at the back of his neck. One particularly sharp tug shocks a gasp out of him, falling away from the kiss in favor of tipping his head back. Eddie's lips immediately find their way to the exposed column of his throat, hard enough for the promise of a mark without the proof.

"Come home with me," Richie breathes through a groan that he's sure Eddie can feel against his tongue where it's pressed at his pulse point. Eddie hums, pressing a final kiss there. " _ Eddie _ ," he says, a little more. "Jesus, come on."

He pulls away then, squeezing once with the hand at Richie's hip. The peaks of his cheekbones are flushed, and Richie becomes aware of the heat on his own face.

"Yeah," Eddie says, the beginnings of a smirk on kiss-bruised lips, like he barely has to think about it. "Fuck, yeah, okay."

"Great," Richie says, smirk tugging at his own lips, trying to lean back in. "Good talk."

Eddie turns at the last second, forcing Richie to settle for the consolation prize of ducking down to get his lips against Eddie's neck.

He laughs a little as Richie mouths at his throat, and Richie revels at the way it turns to a hum when he laps at the skin he's worrying a faint mark into. Two can play that game.

"Richie," Eddie sighs, and he knows he met this man just shy of a few hours ago but Richie's certain he'd do a variety of things to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life. He'll need it played out of one of those rocks they have at amusement parks, but near his grave so he never has to --

"Richie," Eddie says, a little more insistent, hips pushing forward into Richie's, pressing them closer against the wall. He's not too hard, not yet, but he's well on his way and based on the pressure against his thigh, he'd fancy a bet that Eddie's on the same page. "Let's go settle up."

Richie hums, mostly in agreement, but also something a little more than skin deep. It's a contentment that thrums steadily through his veins, pulsing softly at his fingertips where they rest against Eddie's hip, and at the center of his chest under Eddie's hand.

Richie can feel Eddie start to push away, the pressure easing at every point they're connected, and it's not longing but it feels like something pretty fucking close.

He brings his eyes back to focus after Eddie has stepped back a little to see that he's got a hand extended, eyebrow quirked.

"Fuck," Richie says, softly, finally shaking out of the haze enough to regain some brain function. He takes Eddie's hand. "Yeah, let's go."

Eddie's hand is a little damp with sweat, slipping just a little as he leads them through the doors of the Blind Tiger and toward the bar.

"Closin' out, boys?" Eli asks, already keying into the register and pressing a combination of buttons, hovering over the return key.

"If you have a minute," Eddie says, letting go of Richie's hand to reach into his front pocket for his wallet, shifting longer than strictly necessary to the untrained eye, but to Richie it's just --

"Smooth," he says, under his breath, nudging Eddie, earning a soft elbow directly to his stomach. He's still laughing when Eddie passes the small clipboard with Richie's receipt back to him.

In his back pocket, Richie's phone buzzes and brings him back to reality and away from where he's nearly caught staring at the furrow of Eddie's brow as he calculates his tip. Two more notifications come through, so he fishes it out, unlocking it to find the group chat wondering of his whereabouts. He looks up and over his shoulder to see Ben rejoining Stan at their table, shrugging his jacket on. Catching Stan's eye, he winks, earning a knowing eye roll and a smile.

_ 'Don't wait up boys'  _ Richie sends back, flipping his phone to 'do not disturb' and locking it, returning it to his pocket and grabbing his wallet and clipping the first card he can find to the board, handing it to Eli over Eddie's head.

It's not too much longer before the cards are returned to their hands, then to their wallets and Richie's sending a salute and a wink across the bar to Stan and Ben before following Eddie's lead back outside.

A few empty cabs pass them before Richie manages to grab one, opening the door for Eddie to climb in before following, quickly giving his address to the driver.

The ride is short but the suspense and Eddie's hand on his thigh seem to make it impossibly longer. Richie's made this ride countless times since he moved to this particular apartment, sometimes in this kind of situation, but there's something different about this time.

Maybe it's the way that Eddie's chatting idly with the driver, nothing of importance but an easy way of filling the silence, but it still has Richie staring, watching Eddie's lips tug at a smile. It's overwhelming, then, just for a second and Richie has to turn to look out the window, taking in the illuminated bar fronts and the faint glow of the skyline flooded out by city lights.

They're only a few blocks from Richie's now, he realizes, his own personal neighborhood landmarks coming into view as Eddie's conversation with the driver tapers.

It's Eddie's hand creeping up, just a little, that gets Richie to turn his head, eyebrows raised. One quick wink and a light squeeze later, the cab draws to a stop and Eddie reaches into his pocket for his wallet, handing a few bills to the driver before Richie can get a word in otherwise.

"Move," Eddie says, nudging Richie toward the car door.

"Jeez, okay," Richie says, finally getting with the program, and then he's opening the door, waiting for Eddie to climb out after him and thanking the driver before shutting it.

They get through the gate, past the first set of doors and into the lobby of his building easily, Eddie matching him step for step as they head up the stairs. Richie's fumbling with his keys, just barely missing the keyhole when Eddie's hand slips into his back pocket and he's leaning into Richie, mouth finding the space where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Impatient?" Richie asks, and Eddie huffs a laugh against his skin. He finally gets the key in, turning it and shoving the door open a little harder than strictly necessary, turning around to face Eddie. The smirk he's met with makes his knees a little weak, and he can't help but lean down to get his lips on it, not a care in the world that his front door is wide open.

"Maybe a little," Eddie says, muffled against Richie's lips, hand still securely in Richie's back pocket.

It's Richie that ends up turning them, barely breaking the kiss as he walks them through the threshold and closes the door, pushing Eddie against it as soon as it clicks shut.

"Now who's impatient?" Eddie manages when they break for air. Richie takes the opportunity to step closer, slotting a leg between Eddie's while trailing kisses across his jaw, stopping to worry a light mark to the hinge of it that will be gone by morning.

"Still you," Richie says, shifting enough to press into the bulge in Eddie's jeans. Richie is, of course, just as affected, which he’s nearly certain Eddie can feel pressed into his hip, but it's gratifying to feel the buzz of Eddie's moan where he's still pressing kisses to his throat.

Something shifts then -- whether it’s them or the air, Richie can’t tell -- and it brings a different kind of soft edge to their kisses, like they’d be content to do just that the rest of the night. 

Eventually, Eddie pulls back, resting his forehead against Richie’s for just a second before running his hands down from where they were resting at the nape of his neck, dragging them down his arms and linking their hands together. 

“Okay?” Richie asks, eyes crossing as he tries to get a good look at Eddie. He can barely make out anything, seeing double of everything he can manage to see. 

“Bed,” Eddie says, and Richie’s pulse races at how breathless he sounds. 

“Yes _ sir _ ,” Richie jokes, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He relishes in the way that pulls a groan from Eddie, determined to revisit it next--

Well, if there is a next time. 

_ God _ , it’s ridiculous to think about, but already he hopes there’s a next time.

He takes a second to take a deep breath as they toe off their shoes and Richie pulls his wallet from his pocket, setting it on the shelf by the door next to his keys. It’s a little easier to breathe by the time he leads Eddie down the hall, pushing the door open and letting Eddie ahead of him.

The anxious energy comes to a head when he shuts the door to his room, suddenly aware of the sheets in disarray, the half-full glass of water on his side table, the discarded shirt options from tonight draped over the armchair in the corner. 

He can only think of it for a second before Eddie is pushing him back toward the bed where he lets himself sit dramatically, hands settling at Eddie’s hips as he looks up at him. 

Eddie smirks, all dimples, and that’s all the motivation Richie needs to reach for Eddie’s belt, slipping the leather from it’s buckle before flicking the button of his jeans and tugging his shirt from it’s neat tuck. 

He moves for the zipper but is stopped by Eddie pressing at his shoulders, pushing him back and down against the mattress and fitting himself over Richie’s hips and taking his lips in a newly charged kiss. 

Richie’s hands change course, moving to undo the buttons of Eddie’s shirt, fumbling through each one before the fabric hangs loose over him, shifting as Richie runs his hands over the t-shirt underneath to Eddie’s shoulders, pushing the button down off his shoulders. Eddie doesn’t miss a beat, barely breaks the kiss while reaching back to tug the sleeves down and off, tossing the top layer away. 

Richie gets lost in it, the feel of Eddie's tongue sweeping across his own, tucking just behind his teeth before pulling back, nipping lightly at his lower lip, then sitting back against Richie's thighs.

It happens so fast that Richie can barely process it -- he’s busy taking in Eddie sitting back, fly half-open, hair falling from the easy style it was worked into when Eddie reaches back and tugs his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. 

He’s reaching up to run his fingers over the words inked into Eddie’s chest before he even realizes what he’s doing, hand trailing over his pecs and down his arm over the ink there, awestruck as goosebumps raise on Eddie’s arms with the motion. 

“Take a picture, it might last longer,” Eddie says, a little wicked, shattering the silence along with Richie’s resolve.

“Nothing’s lasting long with you looking like that,” he says, then brings a foot up to hit flat against the bed, tipping Eddie forward and close enough for Richie to get his lips back on him. 

Eddie’s laughing as they fall back into a rhythm of teeth and tongues and hands wandering. Somewhere between Eddie’s lips on his neck and Richie’s hand teasing down the back of Eddie’s jeans, Richie’s rid of his button up and t-shirt with no room to feel any particular way about it before Eddie is kissing his way down his chest.

“I’m gonna blow you,” Eddie says, after one especially lingering kiss to Richie’s sternum with just a hint of teeth. “If that’s cool.” 

Richie scoffs, a little incredulous. 

“ _ If that’s cool,  _ he says,” he laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ cool, Jesus Christ.”

“It’s Eddie, actually,” Eddie says, calling back to the bar, and Richie can’t help but laugh. 

The laughter doesn’t last long, cut off with a low groan as Eddie kisses lower and lower until he’s got nowhere to go but where Richie is still straining against his shorts. He makes quick work of the button and zipper before pushing them down enough to allow Richie to kick them off.

It’s the press of Eddie’s palm against him that puts him on the astral plane, he thinks, pulling a string of swears from deep in his chest. Eddie’s laughing a little when Richie pushes himself up to his elbows, watching as he works him over a few more times before pressing a wet kiss to the wet patch near the waistband.

“These are ridiculous,” Eddie says, seemingly out of nowhere, and it takes Richie several blinks to realize that he means the pair boxers he’s wearing -- bright blue with pictures of cartoon pizzas and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles -- that Eddie is currently dragging down his thighs. 

“I’d say laundry day but I’m not a liar,” Richie says, a little strained as he watches Eddie lick his lips before taking Richie’s cock in his hand, working in easy strokes. 

“That somehow still doesn’t make me regret this,” Eddie says, then he doesn’t say much of anything at all, instead opting to lean in and trail wet kisses from where his hand is wrapped at the base of Richie’s cock all the way to the tip before taking the head of it into his mouth, tongue swirling through the precome gathered there.

Richie lets his eyes flutter shut as he falls back to lean on his elbows, still giving himself a good view of Eddie as he works more of Richie into his mouth.

It’s just short of heaven, what Eddie’s doing to him -- just enough suction, no hint of teeth, and perfect tortuous flicks of his tongue to the head every time he pulls back up. Richie feels like his skin is on fire -- every nerve ending alight and burning, heat rising to his cheeks, trailing down his chest and gathering in the cold sweat at his palms. 

He can't help but sigh a moan as he glances down at Eddie, cheeks hollowed and eyelashes fanning across the red glow under the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. It’s a beautiful sight, Richie thinks, reaching out and cupping Eddie’s jaw, thumb brushing across the peak of his cheek bone, feeling the warmth there. 

The shift from _perfect_ to _maddening_ happens between one breath and the next, and before he can stop the words, Richie’s stammering out something that hopefully manages to sound like _wait_ _fuck_ _Eddie hold on_. 

Eddie gets the message, pulling up and off, ruddy cheeks hot under Richie’s hand as he breathes, lower lip shiny with spit and Richie’s precome.

“Okay?” he asks, and  _ fuck _ he sounds wrecked, rasped with labored breathing. Richie closes his eyes.

“Yeah, just trying to find my soul again since you’re trying to suck it out through my dick,” Richie manages, still trying to steady his breathing. 

Richie can hear him laugh at the same time he feels Eddie’s weight on the bed lift, hears the rustle of fabric hitting the floor, and then the weight returns, along with Eddie’s hands on his skin. 

“Lube?” Eddie asks, a hand stroking up and down the coarse hair on his thighs. With a shiver, Richie finally opens his eyes so he can turn to reach for it, along with a condom out of the table beside his bed. 

“You’re driving,” Richie says lazily, too preoccupied with finally looking his fill at Eddie, toned and lean, ink littering his skin. He’s tugging lazily at his own cock, flushed red at the tip and shiny with arousal, making Richie’s head spin.

He did that. Having Richie’s cock in his mouth did that. 

Fuck. 

Richie’s going to have a harder time than usual letting go of this one, he already knows it. 

“As long as you’re navigating,” Eddie says, a coy smile playing at his lips. “I was always shit at directions.”

Richie laughs, bright and maybe a little too much, but he’s never found an instance that he wasn’t a little too much as a whole, and now is certainly not the time to start to remedy that. 

Eddie sighs, shaking his head even as something akin to fondness starts settling on his face.

“How do you wanna do this?” 

Richie pauses, considering. “Like this,” he settles on, and Eddie nods. 

The first press of Eddie's finger at his rim is the best kind of shock, just on the edge of too much sensation for him to process anything else.

Richie hums on an exhale as Eddie presses the first finger in, allowing him to adjust for a bit before slotting a second one in alongside.

"Fuck, Eds," Richie sighs, relaxing into the feeling, eyes fluttering shut as he shifts his hips to meet Eddie's shallow thrusts.

Eddie huffs a laugh. "All good, sweetheart?"

Richie just groans, and whether it's at the pet name or the way Eddie fucks his fingers in at a particular good angle, he'll never tell.

"Yeah, good, fine," Richie manages, opening his eyes. Eddie's a sight -- lower lip tucked between his teeth as he focuses between Richie's legs, smiling when he catches Richie looking. "Come on, you're killing me."

Two quickly turns to three, which turns into torture even quicker, and Richie isn't above begging, he really isn't, but that's more of a second-time-around-the-block kind of thing for him that he doesn't want to break out unless absolutely necessary.

Turns out it's not necessary at all, because by the grace of whatever gods are on Richie's side today, Eddie's decided he's had enough torture for one night, slowly removing his fingers and wiping his hands off on the sheet before reaching for the condom.

He's methodical in each step of this, Richie notes absently as Eddie's reaching for the extra pillow next to Richie's head to slide under his hips. There's something about him carefully rolling the condom down -- even though Richie can see the swell of heaving breaths fighting for control -- that's unbearably hot.

"Still good?" Eddie asks, and Richie huffs.

"Would've been better with your dick in me twenty minutes ago. Just fuck me alread- _ ahh fuck," _ Richie sighs, retort dying on the tip of his tongue as Eddie finally lines up and presses in, pace antagonizingly slow for how much Richie needs this, like, yesterday.

"Always fucking talking," Eddie says, sounding a little worse for wear himself as he pushes the rest of the way in, hips settling at the back of Richie's thighs. "Fuck, Richie. Holy shit."

Richie exhales on a moan, shifting to get a little more comfortable before hooking his legs around the backs of Eddie's thighs, urging him impossibly closer. It's the perfect shift to send Eddie forward, close enough for Richie to pull him in, breathing a little too hard to make this kiss much more than just shared breath as he slowly pulls back, thrusts back in.

"Feels so good," Eddie hums against Richie's lips, nipping at his lower lip before trailing kisses along his jaw, settling over Richie's pulsepoint which sends a shiver all the way down his spine.

"Come  _ on _ ," Richie urges, one hand at the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer, harder, and that’s evidently all Eddie needs to establish a rhythm that has Richie’s breath hitching in his throat. He relaxes into the feeling, hips shifting just enough to meet Eddie’s thrusts. 

It should be suffocating, the way that Eddie is draped completely on top of him, lips at his neck and the lines of his abs rubbing against him where he’s hard and aching, wanting, waiting for just that little bit more as his arousal spikes from its dull glow. It’s the exact opposite, the perfect amount of pressure, every sound from Eddie right in his ear pulling him closer and closer to the edge.

He groans, low in his throat as warmth spreads from his stomach, all the way down his legs, heart racing, hands slipping as they trail down Eddie’s back, slick with sweat. 

Richie doesn’t remember the last time it was this good, this simple, the last time he was this close this fast and the thought alone has him clenching around Eddie.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Eddie groans, right at the hinge of Richie’s jaw, tongue tracing a line up the column of Richie’s neck, teeth catching his earlobe, a sharp distinction from the feeling of rolling radio static raising goosebumps on his arms. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“Jesus fucking--” Richie starts, breathless as he snakes a hand between the two of them to take himself in hand, stroking as efficiently as he can with Eddie still hovering over him, his thrusts speeding up as he chases his own orgasm. 

Eddie’s hand comes up, pushing Richie’s hair from his forehead before cupping his jaw, his thumb pressing at the corner of Richie’s mouth and Richie  _ keens,  _ turning his head just enough to catch the pad of it with his teeth, an unspoken  _ yes  _ as Eddie presses it into his mouth. He sucks lightly at it, tongue laving over the grooves of Eddie’s fingerprints, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation as it becomes a bit too much.

When it finally hits Richie, it rolls over him in waves, his own drawn out groan drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears as he comes over his own hand, clenching around Eddie in a feedback loop of pleasure and just-this-side of oversensitive. 

He can feel Eddie’s hips stutter, the rush of his breath hot at his neck before he finally comes back to take Richie’s mouth, hot and filthy and breathless before he pushes in once, twice more and comes with a groan, sweat-slick forehead resting against Richie’s as he pushes through it. 

Richie’s still catching his breath as Eddie pulls out, accepting the kiss Eddie offers as an apology before he falls to the pillows next to Richie. 

It’s quiet then, just for a second as their breathing returns to normal, until Richie shifts, limbs still heavy as he reaches for a tissue from the box at his side table. He groans, just a little as he moves, sore in all the right ways, in all the ways he hasn’t been in a while. 

“Don’t know why you’re groaning,” Eddie says, voice soft. Richie wants to swallow the sound, trace the consonants with his tongue. God, he’s so fucked. “I’m the one who did all the work.”

Richie laughs, wiping himself down haphazardly before tossing the tissue to the ground to be dealt with later. 

“Didn’t hear any complaints until now,” he says, turning to his side to face Eddie. It’s easy, then, to trace over the ink on his chest, follow the lines of the black star with the tip of his finger. 

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, fondly, nudging Richie just a little as he rolls out of bed, grabbing his boxer breifs as he pads to the bathroom to clean up. 

Richie takes a second after he hears the door shut before getting up himself, retrieving his own boxers from the foot of the bed where Eddie left them. He tugs them on, heading to his desk. 

From the top drawer, he pulls the mason jar he was looking for, checking through the glass to see that his favorite lighter is still in there, that he didn’t toss an empty folder of rolling papers back in after he and Stan lit up last week. 

Eddie’s back before Richie can even make his way back over to the bed, and he smirks when he takes in the jar in his hands.

“Not gonna lie,” Eddie says, pushing the clothes on the floor around, searching for his own, Richie assumes. “Definitely took you as the ‘cigarette break after’ type.”

Richie scrunches his nose, just a little as he shakes his head. 

“Kicked that a while ago,” he says, settling on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Turns out nicotine makes all that fun anxiety shit worse.” 

Eddie hums, non-committal as he finds his shirt, holding onto it like he’s not quite sure if he wants to put it back on. Like he’s not quite sure if Richie will ask him to stay. 

It’s not a question of if Richie will ask, as far as he’s concerned. It’s a question of how long. 

“You wanna?” Richie offers, shaking the jar a little before popping the top open. 

Eddie’s head tilts just a little, shirt still in his hand, flush still down his chest.

“You don’t have to--” he starts, trying to find a way to say ‘ _ please don't go _ ’ without laying every card he has on the table face up. “We can just hang for a little while. No need to bang and begone.”

That gets the small pinched look off of Eddie’s face before it has the chance to reach his eyes, startling a laugh out of him. 

“Bang and  _ begone _ ?” Eddie asks, incredulous as he takes a seat on the floor next to Richie. “Are you fucking serious?” 

“I thought it was Eddie,” Richie says, winking as he gets his supplies out, breaking up a decently sized bud in the palm of his hand. 

“You’re insufferable,” Eddie says, head tipping back against the mattress behind him.

“Again about not hearing any complaints,” Richie says. He looks around, spotting a record folder on the ground next to Eddie -- Tom Petty’s  _ Damn the Torpedoes  _ \-- and points. “Pass me that?”

Eddie looks confused for just a second before passing it over, watching as Richie settles it in his lap, takes a rolling paper from the book and lays it out, taking the broken up weed and spreading it across, quickly twisting it into a neat little joint. 

“Guests first,” Richie says, passing it over, along with the lighter. 

He watches as Eddie places it between his lips, sparks the lighter and holds it to the tip, taking a drag as the end burns orange, acrid smoke filling the space between them as Eddie holds, releases on an exhale. 

“So kind,” Eddie says, smoke still escaping as he speaks. “Bet you let everyone hit it first.” 

“Nah,” Richie says, taking the joint when Eddie offers. “Only the ones who call me sweetheart.”

Eddie laughs, light and easy before it turns into an easy cough, soft smile settling on his face. 

“Go put something on,” Eddie says, tapping the record-turned-rolling tray in Richie’s lap. “I’d even tolerate The Doors right now.” 

Richie smiles, lips curled into it as he takes a drag before passing it back. “My ass made you come to your senses, huh?” 

“Don’t fucking push your luck,” Eddie says, probably already resigned to his fate. 

It’s the Tom Petty record Richie puts on, spinning idly in the background as the room gets hazy, one joint turning into two, especially with how quickly the first one burns with the shotgun hits from Eddie. 

It’s easy, it’s comfortable, it’s making Richie want to say -- 

“It’s late,” Eddie says, halfway through the second j, more of an observation than anything. “Alright if I stay?” 

Richie blinks, knows his eyes are wider than he wants them to be, dry and a little itchy but still looking directly at Eddie, hearing him ask the question that was on the tip of his own tongue.

“Yeah, Eds,” he finally says. “It’s alright.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [find me on twitter here!](https://twitter.com/REECHlE/)


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